rs. Lang's face.

"You look tired out," she said kindly.

"I feel so," said Mrs. Lang listlessly. "The wind is almost more
than any one can battle with, and the damp seems to get into one's
bones. I feel ready to drop--and, oh, I've such a lot to do!"

"Mother," said Jessie eagerly, "shall I make you a cup of tea?
I know the kettle is boiling by this time. Don't you think it would
do you good?"

Charlie's face lit up again. "Oh do, mother, do, and have it up
here, and Miss Patch have one, too, and Jessie, and me."

"Well, I declare!" cried Mrs. Lang, quite taken aback. "What next! I
never heard of such a thing! I believe, though, that one would do me
good, and I know I'd enjoy it ever so much. Miss Patch would, too, I
believe!"

Miss Patch smiled. "I'd enjoy one," she laughed, "if I had to get up
in the middle of the night for it."

Without waiting for another word Jessie flew off to the kitchen.
This was her chance she felt to do things nicely, so, while the
kettle came to the boil, she polished the shabby tray and the
tea-cups and spoons. She had no pretty white cloth to lay on the
tray, unfortunately, but she had a sheet of white paper that she had
saved from a parcel, and she spread this on the tray, then arranged
on it the cups and saucers and milk-jug and sugar-basin. She made
the tea next and put out some biscuits on a plate.

She could not carry all up at once, so she took the tray first, then
came back for the teapot and kettle. A second chair was got from
Mrs. Lang's bedroom, and then the sociable little meal was begun.

It did not last long, but half-an-hour, at the longest. Yet it was
one of those bright little spots which linger long in the memory and
make one glad, though sometimes sad, to look back upon.

"Well, I must get on, my work won't do itself, I guess," sighed Mrs.
Lang, at last reluctantly preparing to rise, but Charlie put out his
hand to detain her.

"Don't go yet, mother, wait a minute, I want Miss Patch to sing.
Miss Patch, you will sing to us, just once, won't you?" he pleaded.
"That one you used to sing to me. Oh, do! please! please!"

"But, my dear, my dinner is on cooking, and--and"--Miss Patch's
cheeks flushed a delicate pink, she was very shy--"I--I ain't
accustomed to singing, except to myself, and--well, I used to sing to
you sometimes when you were very little and didn't know what good
singing was."

"It was lovely," said Charlie earnestly, "and nobody ev